


Occupational Hazard

by Kerkerian



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Caretaking, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, M/M, Minor Injuries, Post-Mission, References to Canon-Typical Violence, macdalton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25090237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerkerian/pseuds/Kerkerian
Summary: Just some TLC and the usual bickering after coming home...
Relationships: Jack Dalton/Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 105





	Occupational Hazard

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own MacGyver.

Jack and Mac closed the front door, dropped their duffel bags and regarded one another exhaustedly.

“Shower or sleep?” Jack asked, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Sleep,” Mac replied, his voice brittle with fatigue. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes: “Just leave me here, 'kay?”

With a sigh, Jack imitated him: “Yeah, I'll join you... Oh, 's nice.”

For a moment, neither of them moved, then Mac blinked: “Or maybe not,” he muttered. “Carry me to bed?”

“You carry me.”

“I asked first.”

“Fair enough. Come on...” Jack looped one arm around Mac's midriff. Both of them quickly aborted the motion however, wincing.

“Did you get that cut looked at?” Mac frowned at Jack, his expression concerned.

Jack looked sheepish: “No? Did you get your back looked at? And your knee?”

“When would I have had the time to go to the infirmary?”

“Exactly. I didn't either.”

“Oh.” Now Mac looked sheepish, because Jack undeniably had a point.

“Alright,” Jack said, gingerly tugging at Mac's arm. “Let's get going. I better check your head, see if you got any bumps.”

Mac let himself be pulled along; it was slow-going, because he was limping a little.

“My head's fine,” he muttered.

“Really?” Jack didn't seem convinced. “Seems to me as if someone's clocked you one good.”

“That was you. I'm just tired.” A hint of annoyance stole into Mac's tone now.

“So am I. But I can still recall everything we did today, and that did not include going to the infirmary.”

Mac rolled his eyes. His head was aching, if rather from the lack of sleep, therefore Jack didn't need to know that.

In the bathroom, Jack began to take off his clothes while Mac got out the first aid kit.

“There goes my fifth favourite Metallica shirt,” Jack muttered, glancing from the ruined shirt to his wound with a frown. The cut he'd received wasn't deep but rather long, reaching from his left shoulder down to his chest, and looked painful nonetheless. Jack sat on the edge of the tub: “You should be the one sitting down,” he said, “give your knee some rest.”

Mac shook his head: “You're bleeding. My knee's not so bad.”

“At least you didn't say 'fine' this time.” Jack smirked.

Mac, who was doing his best to ignore the shooting pain in his knee he felt every time he moved wrong or put too much weight on it, pretended not to have heard him.

While Mac took care of the wound, carefully cleaning it and applying butterfly bandages before dressing it, Jack refrained from giving a running commentary, contrary to his usual behaviour; he was too depleted to do so. Instead, he watched Mac's face, loving how deeply concentrated he was, despite the fatigue edged into his features. Every time Jack winced, he grimaced, probably unaware that he was doing it. His own movements were measured, betraying his own aching body.

“Okay,” he said when he was done. “I think this should hold up. Do you want to take some painkillers?”

“Thanks, babe,” Jack said. “Yeah, I better.” The wound was throbbing now, and he knew from experience that he wasn't going to be able to fall asleep like this, especially if he couldn't lie on his front, which he preferred. Mac went to get some ibuprofen and a glass of water, and Jack was grateful that he didn't have to get up right then; he was actually feeling a little shaky.

“That was a big knife,” he said when Mac was back. His partner paused, his expression softening: “Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “I'm just glad you got out of the way in time. Well, almost.”

They didn't often allow themselves to ponder the what ifs, due to the simple fact that they were facing dangers every time they went out there. There were always going to be guys with knives or other weapons, just as there were always going to be guys built like tanks who had no trouble throwing Mac around like a ragdoll. It was part of the job and they took it in their stride. Now however, Jack held out his hand: “Come here for a sec?” he asked softly, and Mac complied, stepping closer until Jack could rest his cheek against his belly. Gently, he put his hands on Jack's shoulders, his arms bracketing his head, and Jack closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling the scent that was composed of the faint aroma of laundry detergent and purely Mac.

“Okay?” Mac asked when Jack eventually and reluctantly pulled back.

“Yeah.” Jack gave him a small smile. “Much better.”

The corners of Mac's mouth quirked up at that.

After he had downed one of the pills, Mac made Jack turn sideways; he had seen that Jack was holding his head rather stiffly, and he hissed when Mac gently probed the skin just above the hairline with his fingertips. Mac could feel a few welts: “Seems like you're the one with the bumps,” he said, a grin flashing over his face.

“Yeah, now that you're mentioning it- I think it was a two by four,” Jack muttered, hissing again: “Ow, will you please stop that?”

“Just checking,” Mac replied calmly. “It barely bled, from the looks of it. Just needs some ice.”

“'kay.” Jack slowly got to his feet: “That's all I got. Your turn.”

Mac rubbed his burning eyes: “I wasn't done. Are you seeing double or anything? Any nausea?”

“I don't have a concussion, doctor, just a stiff neck,” Jack said. “Now strip.” He grinned.

“Please don't start singing.” Mac unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it, followed by the Henley he was wearing underneath.

Jack took one look at his back and whistled through his teeth: “And you were just gonna go to bed?”

“Yeah, why?” Mac craned his head to look at his back in the bathroom mirror. His right side from his shoulder blade down to his hip was one giant bruise, as was his upper arm.

“Your ribs giving you trouble?” Jack asked.

Mac's answer was evasive: “Nothing I can't handle.”

“That wasn't my question,” Jack gave him a stern look. “I know you can. I'd still also like to know how bad it is.” Very carefully, he touched the skin next to the place where the swelling was worst, and Mac immediately flinched away with a hiss.

“See how I was _just checking_ as well?” Jack said.

Mac was panting: “You really needn't have,” he ground out. “Since you can actually _see_ the damage. Yours is hidden by your hair.”

“I don't have _that_ much hair,” Jack grumbled. “Anyway. There's nothing we can do about your ribs- which, for the record, yes, I _can_ see because you're thin as a Whippet, but which I can't actually _see_ see. Fortunately. Ew, that'd be gross.”

Mac only rolled his eyes at that, which Jack ignored: “I think we should put some salve on this. You still got the yellow one that smells of gin?”

“Yeah, it's in there,” Mac said, motioning towards the first aid kit.

He gritted his teeth while Jack did his best to rub the salve on his skin without applying too much pressure, but it hurt nevertheless. At least the stuff was pleasantly cool, which brought some momentary relief.

When Jack was done, he padded over to the sink to wash his hands: “Now your knee. Pants off, if you please.”

“It's just smarting a little because I twisted it. It'll be fine.”

“Could you please take off your pants nevertheless, just to entertain me?”

“You're having way too much fun with this,” Mac muttered, but opened his belt and slid out of his cargos.

“This doesn't look any better than your back,” Jack said. “How've you been running on that thing?”

“Adrenaline I suppose, though its boosting effect in times of acute crises hasn't actually been scientifically proven.”

“Seems like it worked, that's proof enough for me. I'm gonna put some salve on it as well, but if the swelling doesn't go down, I'm taking you to the infirmary tomorrow.”

Too tired to argue, Mac just nodded.

Jack handed him the glass of water that was still half full and one of the painkillers: "Take this, it'll help." Mac hesitated for only a second; he knew he was going to be able to sleep because Jack was there, a calming presence, and his head was killing him by now. So he took the pill and put the empty glass on the shelf by the sink.

“Can we go to bed now?” he asked as soon as Jack had finished applying the salve, sounding very young all of a sudden. He was swaying on the spot ever so slightly, emphasizing that he was running on empty by now.

“Yeah.” Jack washed his hands once more: “I'm just gonna get some ice for both of us, okay? You go ahead and lie down, I'll be right there.”

Nodding, Mac limped out of the room while Jack dried his hands and went into the kitchen.

When he entered the bedroom two minutes later, Mac had pulled down the blinds and was just slipping into an old t-shirt, moving somewhat clumsily now. Yawning, he pulled back the covers and crawled onto the mattress, easing himself onto his side. Jack sat down next to him and wrapped the ice-pack around his knee. Grimacing, Mac gave a small groan at the initial cold, but then he relaxed visibly.

“Thanks,” he muttered

Jack also put on a t-shirt, then stretched out next to his partner, groaning as well: he was relieved to be finally lying down.

“Too far away,” Mac muttered groggily, his eyes on half-mast already.

“True.” Mindful of their injuries, Jack shimmied closer until Mac was nestling against him. He put his own ice-pack underneath his head: "Hmm, you smell good. Just add some lemon and a splash of soda... It'd make for a nice belly shot!"

"Funny," Mac's voice was gravelly. "You say that every time, by the way."

"And I mean it every time." Jack chuckled quietly. “Sleep well, Fizz,” he then murmured, pressing a kiss on Mac's hair.

“You too, jerk.” Mac rested his cheek against Jack's shoulder, put his arm around the other's midriff and closed his eyes, sighing in contentment.

Tenderly, Jack put his hand over Mac's, closing his eyes as well; it didn't take long for them to fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm not a Native Speaker, therefore I apologize for any mistakes.


End file.
